Whiteout
by Eliatra Sabre
Summary: When Castle and Beckett get stranded in a snowstorm outside the city, they undertake unusual measures to stay warm. Caskett, season 4ish, fluffy goodness. One-shot.


**Whiteout**

* * *

><p>It was the freezer all over again, cold and panicky and desperate, but at least the only lives at stake were their own.<p>

The patrol car door cracked open, muffled against the gray-white outside, and Beckett climbed behind the wheel in a flurry of snow and chilled air. White flakes frosted her dark hair.

She wouldn't meet his eyes right away. Her gloved fingers closed around the wheel, clenching softly, like she was going to floor it any second and conquer the snow drifts piling outside the aging Crown Vic.

"What's the prognosis?"

"We're stuck, Castle."

"I figured." She shot him her worst look and he raised his hands in surrender. "Just saying."

"I don't have any way of digging us out, and even if I did, we'd just get stuck ten feet down the road."

"And no cell service out here, so we can't call a tow truck." Castle thumbed the screen on his phone, hoping for a miraculous bar to show up, but the tiny 'no service' icon persisted. "At least we've got heat." _Nikki Heat,_ he added mentally, but refrained for Beckett's sake.

"I can't leave the engine running all night. We need gas if we're going to get back to the city." She ran her hands back through her hair, looking exhausted.

It had already been a long day. They'd driven upstate to the Cayuga Correctional Facility early that morning, arriving by noon to talk to Jamie Leavitt, a prisoner with connections to their current case. The interview had been fruitless, but Castle had bought Kate lunch at a diner in the city and they'd discussed their chances against the stormclouds gathering weight overhead. By early afternoon, snow had started hurling itself down on them. They made it to the interstate by 3, but traffic was already slowing to a crawl, and by 6 Castle was hungry again and they were, conservatively, an hour out from Binghamton, and too far from New York for Beckett to even consider trying to reach before nightfall. The sky was already oppressively dark, as if the daylight had simply given up on trying to penetrate the cloud cover.

So they'd taken the next exit ("Bed and Breakfast," Castle had spotted on a sign, and even Beckett had conceded that sounded better than another second in the Crown Vic with her ass falling asleep and Castle squirming around like a restless child) and crept across barely-distinguishable roads, squinting through the endless curtain of white and getting further and further from the freeway until even Kate wasn't sure they were still on asphalt.

The few signs, mere specks of green under nodding caps of snow, pointed on and on. The GPS gave out. The cell phones gave out. And finally, surrounded by a formless void of gray sky and grayer snow and silence stiller than death, the motion of the car gave out, and they sat with the heater rumbling and the wiper blades thwapping with pitiful determination.

Beckett switched off the wiper blades and finally looked at Castle, really looked at him, the way she did when they were about to go into a firefight and she knew he was going to do something stupid even if she handcuffed him to the car. "You'd think freezing to death once would be enough for anyone."

"As long as it's with you," he said, only half-cheekily, but his smile dropped when she didn't join in the joke. "Kate, it's just one night. We're not that far off the interstate. They'll find us."

"Yeah," she said without conviction.

It scared him, this side of her. The part that didn't bare its teeth at danger, just curled up and waited. This was how it was, sometimes, ever since she'd been shot. He had to remind her that she needed to fight, and the only way he knew how was to make her angry. He seemed to be good at that.

"Well, then," he said, leaning toward her, "can I keep you warm tonight?"

"Castle, I'm really not in the mood."

"Front seat or back?" He unclipped his seat belt and stretched, elbow banging into the window. The windshield was already starting to coat with white, and it felt like the outdoors was pressing in on him. "Because the backseat has that terrible bench, but at least you don't have the center console in the way, and we could always put down our coats—"

"Castle." She leveled a glare at him. Good. "Stop."

"Not until you come up with a plan."

Beckett drew a breath. "As soon as I turn off the engine, the temperature is going to start dropping. We can stay close for warmth, but it's below freezing outside and it's just going to keep getting colder as the night goes on."

"What if we go out for help?"

"Even worse. It'll be too easy to get lost out there, especially after dark, and we'd be even more exposed. Our chances of finding a structure or a home aren't very good. It's too rural out here. Even in good weather we might walk for a half hour or more, and we're definitely not dressed for this weather right now."

"Do you have any blankets?"

"I might. There's an emergency kit in the trunk."

"I'll get it."

"Castle—"

"You already went out there once." He laid a hand on her arm. "Let me be a gentleman. I hear chivalry's impressive."

She rolled her eyes but popped the trunk. He hurried out the door and stumbled through the piling snow, lifting his feet high and feeling it creeping up his pant legs already. The icy wind was already brutally cold, snow whipping into his face with a sharpness that shouldn't belong to such downy flakes. The trunk was mostly empty, but a panel on the floor lifted to reveal a bunch of tools he didn't recognize, an evidence collection kit, batteries, a flashlight, jumper cables—aha, a foil emergency blanket and a box of granola bars. Probably expired, but chocolate lasted forever, right? Or was that honey?

He grabbed the blanket, granola bars, and the flashlight for good measure, shut the panel, and squinted into the corners of the trunk. There—something wadded into the back. He fished it out and unfolded an old, threadbare quilt, the kind you used to cover tables and furniture when you were moving. Jackpot.

Castle slammed the trunk closed, shaking loose the snow clinging to the edges, and plowed back around to the back door. Prying it open, he tossed in his payload and climbed in after, taking care to shake off his shoes before pulling in his feet and shutting the door.

Beckett eyed him through the Plexiglass screen. "What are you doing back there?"

"Settling in with my delicious dinner." He held up the box of snack bars and grinned. "It's better than a five-star restaurant back here."

"Want to give me one?" She held out a hand.

"Huh-uh. You gotta come to me, Detective. I did the work, you might as well come back and reap the fruits of my labor on my side of the wall."

"Think you can behave yourself?"

"You think I wouldn't?" He feigned horror.

Only a little reluctantly, she joined him on the backseat after turning off the engine. They sat, awkwardly compressed into the tiny space, with the box of stale granola bars between them. It tasted like a feast to Castle.

They chewed in silence, and he wasn't going to say anything about the dropping temperature, until Beckett pulled off her gloves after her second bar and blew into her fingers. Her shoulders were hunched into her wool coat, her slender frame curling into itself. Rick was feeling crowded on the narrow bench seat, but Kate barely seemed to fill her side.

She noticed him staring and half-smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "Look… I can see my breath." She puffed out experimentally, her lips forming a dark O.

"Kate." He thought of the freezer again, the way the cold had burned into his exposed skin like steel knives, and his flesh already crawled in anticipation. He wanted to curve her body against him, soak in her heat like a summer day.

Her eyes glowed in the half-light inside the car. "Yes?"

Castle's mouth opened, formed the words of desire, of wanting, of why-is-it-always-when-we're-dying, but all that came out was, "Let's stay warm together."

Astonishingly, she nodded and reached for the thin quilt and readjusted to spread its meager fabric over the bench. "It's not much of a mattress," she said, almost apologetically.

"See, if we'd taken _my_ car—" he shifted to smooth the blanket down on his side and started unbuttoning his coat. "—then we'd have a much more comfortable, ah… sleeping arrangement."

"But we wouldn't have had dinner."

"Point taken."

Kate pulled off her heels and left them on the floor, then eyed the bench skeptically. "How do you want to do this?"

"I'll lie against the back, and you can lay against me?"

"No funny stuff?"

"No funny stuff."

He pressed himself against the back of the hard plastic bench and sucked in his gut to make the most space possible for her—even so, the ledge looked slender enough that she might fall off the edge. Kate shimmied out of her jacket and slipped it on backwards, then slid down next to him, pulling the flimsy emergency blanket over them both. Her spine was a soft, strong arc against his chest, his stomach, her legs curling around his like a puzzle piece. Rick lifted the edge of his coat and cocooned her in it, slipping his arm around her. It wasn't as close as he'd have liked, but it was close enough, and for now she was soft and yielding.

Her hair smelled like cherries and ice.

"Castle?"

The sleepy, cold-dulled sound of her voice brought him back too much to that night in the freezer, and he pressed his nose into her hair. They would not freeze. They would stay warm. Warm.

"Castle."

"What?"

"I'm sorry in advance if I elbow you in the middle of the night."

"S'okay." Another breath of cherries and snow. He thought he could breathe it in forever. "I wish we could take a rain check on this."

She curved against him. "Not good enough for you?"

"I can't complain about the company, but the accommodations are sorely lacking."

A sigh. He reveled in the lift of her ribcage beneath his arm, the soft thud of her heartbeat.

"Maybe next time, Castle."

#

Morning came with a blinding gleam of white like sun through soft curtains and joints that were stiffer and colder than the time he'd taken Alexis camping on the coast. It took him a few moments to adjust: he was on his back, legs scrunched against the door, head sore on the hard plastic of the car bench, and a solid weight was pressing down on his chest, warm and heavy and soft. Cherries.

Castle reached out a half-numb hand and brushed her hair into some kind of order. The emergency blanket was slipping halfway off, but it had done a surprisingly good job of holding in the heat. He wasn't exactly toasty, but for a night spent in what was essentially an ice cave, he was fairly warm.

The slight motion made Kate stir and press her face into his chest. He tried to memorize the ways she pressed against him, angular and soft in ways he'd hoped for but never imagined. Her fingers were pressed against his sides for warmth.

"Kate," he murmured. His mouth was dry and tasted like sleep. "Kate."

She lifted her head and opened those moss-green eyes. Smudged mascara. Tangled hair. Creases under her eyes. Morning breath, probably. She was beautiful. Her chin dropped back down and she rested it lightly on his chest, still too groggy to berate him for seeing her like this; for giving her a refuge.

"Sleep well?" he asked.

"I've had better." Her face went back down against his chest, and all he could see was the top of her dark tresses.

He took a breath, watched the rise and fall of her hair.

"Your bed is probably softer than mine," he pointed out wryly.

"Probably."

As touching as this was (and to be honest, if it wasn't freezing, he'd be content to lie like this forever, achy joints and all), his hands were almost numb, and he doubted she'd appreciate him sneaking them up her shirt, against the soft white curves of her sides, cupping the angles of her shoulderblades… oh. Better to stop that train of thought before she discovered its consequences.

"Kate?"

"Mmm."

"Think we can start up the heater this morning?"

"For a bit," she sighed, and carefully extricated herself from his chest. He instantly missed her warmth.

They discussed their options over the remaining granola bars and handfuls of melted snow. The night had accumulated at least a foot and a half of snow on the ground, too much for the Crown Vic to struggle through even if it hadn't been previously stuck, and as yet no plows had come by. On the bright side, it had stopped snowing, although the clouds still clung to the earth with heavy gray bellies.

When they looked out, they could make out buildings on the horizon in the direction they'd been driving. "Probably a mile or two out," Kate estimated.

Castle was doubtful. "Even if it is the bed and breakfast we were trying to get to, we'll get too cold and wet if we walk."

"And if we stay here?"

"Wait for spring?" he'd suggested, but he already knew it was a losing battle. The granola bar breakfast hadn't satisfied either of them, and he'd be the first to admit he was going a little stir crazy inside the squad car. They had to make it to civilization if they were going to get any help.

So, locking the car behind them ("Who's going to steal it?"), they set out down the road, climbing through drifts of snow and stumbling across rocks and hills.

They walked for a half hour before Castle called for a stop, bending over and trying to massage feeling back into his frozen feet. Kate in her heeled boots wasn't much better off, though somewhat less wet than Castle.

Kate's breath puffed out, blowing warmth back into her fingers. "Come on, Castle, we can do it."

He grimaced as he wiggled his toes and tried to work through the stab of pins and needles. "I'm starting to think we should just go back. I've officially decided freezing to death is the cruelest fate."

"You don't have to tell me twice," she said. "Funny how I always seem to end up with you when this happens, huh?"

"Why, Detective," he grinned, "are you saying you're getting cold feet?"

Beckett punched him in the arm.

#

Castle almost wept with joy when, an hour later, they pushed through a chain-link gate swathed in snow and climbed the steps to the Creekside Bed and Breakfast, a remodeled two-story house that rose above the featureless mounds of white on the landscape.

A bell on the door rang cheerily when they walked inside, and after a moment a startled-looking woman holding a mug of tea appeared in the doorway of the small lobby.

"Oh, dear. How did you two get here?" She set the mug down and hurried to take their coats.

"We walked," Castle said with a wince. The toasty warmth inside was making his numb cheeks tingle.

The woman shot them an incredulous look. "From where? The roads aren't plowed…"

"We're a mile or two back towards the freeway," Beckett explained. "We got stranded."

"You poor dears. I'm glad you made it. They're saying we're due for another foot and a half this afternoon." She hung up their coats on a rack near the door and hurried over to a desk at the other side of the room, where a lamp, a small computer, and a rack of keys were situated. "I'm assuming you'll want to stay until the roads are cleared, then?"

"At least for tonight," Beckett said, steadfastly ignoring Castle's glances of longing. "We really need to be on our way as soon as we can."

"I'll just have you sign in here, then," the woman said, pushing the guest book toward them, "and I'll heat up some of our stew from last night. You look famished."

"We are," Castle said emphatically.

Beckett put down her information in the log book. "What are the rates?"

"I've got it," Castle said, before the woman could explain. He furnished a credit card and handed it to the woman. "I noticed you've got a little gift shop, too?"

"Yes, just off the foyer."

"Run me a tab for that, will you? I don't have any pajamas, and I don't imagine Det—_Miss _Beckett does, either."

"You don't have to do that," Kate muttered while the woman ran the card.

"What, you want to spend all day in those wet pants?"

"I could have paid for it myself."

"Your card, Mr. Castle," the woman said. "I'm Janelle Brewer, by the way. One room, or two?"

"One," Castle said, at the same time as Beckett's, "Two."

Beckett stepped forward with a sideways glare at Castle. "Two, please."

Slightly bemused, Ms. Brewer handed over two room keys. "Please, make yourselves at home. You'll be in rooms 1 and 2 at the top of the stairs, right across from each other. There are bathrooms adjoining each room, and they should be stocked with fresh linens already. I'll have that stew downstairs whenever you're ready."

"Great," Beckett said, taking the key with a forced smile, and hiked up the stairs without a backward glance.

Castle followed her up the curving staircase and entered his own room, 2, with a little sigh. White light from the snow filled the room with an ambient glow, even through the blue check curtains. The brass bedframe was simple, the floral bedspread thick and soft, and the mattress only marginally squeaky. The whole place spoke of quaint country elegance and had the pleasant clean smell of hardwood floors and old farmhouses.

He peeled off his wet shoes and socks, still wiggling his toes as the feeling started to come back, and explored the bathroom. There was a claw-footed tub, dripping from the faucet to keep the pipes from freezing up, and a stack of delightfully soft blue towels on a small table in one corner. He almost wanted to indulge in a warm bath right then, but the growl of his stomach reminded him of more pressing needs.

He met Beckett back in the hallway, surprised for a moment at her unusual shortness until he realized she had also changed out of her stilettos.

"Warmed up yet?" he asked as they descended the stairs together.

"Getting there. I was worried my toes might have fallen off a mile back. I'm glad we aren't spending another night in the back of the car."

"Me too. But if you need a bedwarmer, Beckett…"

She gave him a wry smile. "I think I'll be fine, thanks."

"You have my number," he grinned, holding up two fingers.

They enjoyed a hot lunch of reheated, but nonetheless delicious, stew and used the hotel's landline to contact the precinct and Castle's loft about their delay.

Alexis, who was home for the snow day, answered the phone with undisguised worry in her voice. "Dad, why didn't you call earlier?"

"I would have, but our reception was out," he said. Beckett was smirking from the table they'd shared for lunch, her fingers curled around a mug of hot coffee.

"Where are you now?"

"Upstate. I forget the name of the place. We got stranded in Detective Beckett's car last night, but we're at a bed-and-breakfast for now, until the roads clear up."

"Stranded?"

"We had to keep each other warm all night," he said gleefully. Beckett's smirk disappeared.

"Dad. Ew."

"Sorry."

"Anyway… when are you going to be back? If I have to spend another day cooped up here with Gram, we might start having to watch her old musicals on tape."

"I'm not sure, honey. I'll give you a call when we leave, how about that? But I'm hoping no later than tomorrow."

"Okay. Love you."

"Love you too. Bye." He kissed the air and hung up the phone, turning to spot Beckett hastily rearranging a look he might have called sentimental. "What was that all about?"

"Oh, nothing. You just… remind me of me and my dad, is all."

"Should I take that as a compliment?"

"This time? Yes."

They passed the rest of the afternoon discussing what aspects of the case they could piece together from memory, and when they had exhausted all possible avenues there, turned to the bed-and-breakfast's stash of board games. As promised, the snow began drifting down again shortly after lunch, and by late afternoon, the drifts were piling to Castle's height in some spots, and the air was thick with the haze of broad white flakes.

Dinner—served by the capable Janelle Brewer—was chicken potpie, which had the dual effect of making Castle feel as if he'd never eat anything better again, and making him want to curl up and sleep forever. It wasn't the best alternative to reading in the den after dinner and sneaking glances at Beckett, curled up in the pajamas he'd bought, her hair falling loose over one shoulder and her eyes buried in the pages of a borrowed book from the hotel's library; but he figured it would be less effort to fall asleep in his own bed and stay there, then to fall asleep on the couch, get a crick in his neck, and have to sneak up to his room in the middle of the night.

The flannel pajamas he'd picked out from the hotel's small gift shop were red plaid with a moose embroidered on the left breast pocket. They weren't his usual t-shirt and boxers, but he suspected the old hotel's upper floor would be drafty, and he wanted all the insulation he could get.

Chilly room aside, the potpie worked its magic, and he slept soundly until a soft knock at his door shattered his slumber.

Padding hastily over the ice-cold floorboards, he unbolted the latch to find Kate in the hallway, lit only by the blue-white glow of snow and moonlight streaming through the window.

"Sorry to wake you up," she whispered.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm still cold."

He stared a second, then realized his feet were still freezing and hers probably were too, and he opened the door wider and ushered her in before she could change her mind.

She hesitated at the side of the queen-size bed, but he was already walking to his side and climbing back under the covers.

"I know it's no police car," he said, grinning, "but I think you'll find it comfortable, anyway."

Kate released a breath and slid under the covers beside him, curling her toes against the cool spots between the sheets and scooting over until she found the lingering warmth where he'd been lying before.

He was still poised on his side of the mattress, inches away from her but afraid to presume; of course, they had been closer than this in the car, but that had been out of necessity, and yes, she had walked straight into his room and into his bed without so much as an invitation, but he didn't want to upset the fragile balance between them—

She turned her head to face him, her hair falling across his pillow. "Castle."

"Yes?"

"Are you going to cuddle, or what?"

That was it, then. "Cuddle. Definitely cuddle."

He pushed her hair out of the way and curved himself against her back, burying his nose against her neck; not cherries now, she must have bathed, but there was a faint scent of soapy floral freshness. His arm fit around the valley of her waist, and she tucked her arm over his, curling her cold fist into his fingers and letting out a deep, contented breath.

He wished the snow would fall like this forever.


End file.
